


blossoms turned to snowflakes on the ground

by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), M/M, also it's still, eddie is a dancer, for everything else just read the fic, holiday fic, it's the 40s, richie is an actor, specifically it's a 1940s post-ww2 au?, this is SO WEIRD AND NICHE i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22023688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwatson/pseuds/eddiespaghetti
Summary: In December 1947, Eddie has been living in LA for years and made a name for himself as a dancer and choreographer. He hasn't seen Richie Tozier in about 20 years, since he moved away from Derry. Then he runs into Richie at a bar, and it turns out that Richie is an actor for Paramount - an actor in need of dance lessons.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 29
Kudos: 227
Collections: Reddie Secret Santa 2019





	blossoms turned to snowflakes on the ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nuvvanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuvvanda/gifts).



> the title comes from "Santa Claus Came in the Spring," an absolutely delightful old Christmas song I listened to on repeat while writing this, which also gave me a lot of very corny reddie feelings. i would suggest listening to either that (maybe specifically the benny goodman version) or "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm" while reading, because I think they lend the fic a lot of its period atmosphere.
> 
> bits of the opening bar sequence are just BLATANTLY STOLEN from the film version of a single man bc that sequence is. one of my favorite sequences in all of lgbt cinema. it was also very good 1940s inspo.
> 
> also this is all for paige so - paige i hope you like it!!!!!

It’s times like this - alone just a week before Christmas, surrounded by palm trees, that Eddie almost regrets running away to LA. Nothing came of it, after all. There were too many other people in Hollywood, more talented and better looking, and mostly men who could sing and not just dance. Eddie doesn’t have any of that. Well - he can dance, and he’s always loved it, but that’s all he’s got, and it’s not enough.

So there he is, in his usual place, standing outside the bar to get some air, watching other men smoke.

If he were somebody else, somebody braver, this would be sort of place to pick people up. Things have been wild ever since the war - everyone having too much fun to bother to look too closely at anyone else. And since he never got famous, he doesn’t have nearly as much to worry about. If he picked the wrong guy, he might get punched in the face, but that’s never been what Eddie’s afraid of. Well maybe it is in some subconscious way, but that’s not what he knows he’s afraid of.

He ran off to LA to get away from his mother - and he did it. She never calls, she doesn’t know where he is, and if she had to guess she probably wouldn’t guess he was standing on a beach in LA, watching the stars outside of some dive bar.

Still, it’s like she haunts him. It’s like in running away from it, somehow he gave it the power to follow him. Every time he thinks about it, starts to make a move, he can hear every awful thing his mother ever said to him about being “a queer.” And nobody’s ever tried to make a move on him - no one except women he continues to politely decline.

He sighs, picks at the label on his beer, and looks out at the moon. It’s a nice warm night - the sounds of some Bing Crosby Christmas song are drifting out of the bar every time the door swings open.

The sounds of the ocean are still just barely audible in the distance. Eddie closes his eyes and enjoys the peace. The din of the crowd is still there, and so is the jazzy Christmas music, but when it all kind of blends together in the warm air of the night, it reminds Eddie why he came out here. All of this is better than sitting alone in his apartment, and there are people around to keep him company.

At that point, someone comes up beside him. “Hey, no chance you’ve got a light, is there?”

Eddie opens his eyes and looks over to find a guy in a horrible Hawaiian shirt with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. His eyes are wide behind his thick-rim glasses, and his face has a good deal of stubble. Something about him seems familiar, but Eddie can’t really put a finger on it.

“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” Eddie tells him.

The guy sighs and shrugs. “Eh, well, I’ll live.” Some other guy pulls out a lighter and offers it over, so Hawaiian shirt guy takes it and lights up - but he stays close to Eddie. “So what brings you out here so close to Christmas?”

“My apartment seemed depressing, and it’s too crowded in the bar. What about you?”

The guy shrugs. “Ran out of cigarettes. Thought I may as well hang out for a while, take in the Christmas spirit. And I uh - are you Eddie Kaspbrak?”

Eddie blinks, and flushes. “Uh. Yeah. How do you-”

“Sorry. I’m Richie Tozier? We went to school together. And I sort of - people around the studio say you’re a hell of a dancer. I got a contract with Paramount just for comedy background shit.”

Suddenly, it clicks in Eddie’s head, why the guy looked so familiar. “Richie. Holy shit, hey!”

Richie grins at him, and pulls him into a hug - and Eddie lets him, and hugs back. It’s been at least 20 years since he saw Richie, since he moved away from Derry and then ran off, but the two of them were friends once.

For all anybody around them knows, they haven’t seen each other since the war started or something, so Eddie lets the hug drag on, holds tighter to Richie than he maybe should. He’s probably being obvious, but Richie is tall and broad and handsome, and Eddie had a crush on him when they were kids, so he’s gonna enjoy the moment - sue him.

Richie finally lets go, so Eddie does, too, pulling back with a grin and taking a long pull of his beer. Richie takes a drag off his cigarette, and they just stand there, looking at each other.

That, of course, is when it starts to rain. Eddie ducks, and tries to cover his head, while Richie looks up and laughs. “Hey, come on,” he says, taking Eddie’s wrist in his hand and tugging back towards the bar.

Everyone else has the same idea, though, and the place was already too crowded for Eddie, so pushing their way in is difficult.

Richie’s hand on his wrist is the one thing keeping him grounded, making him feel a little more at ease while the crowd swallows both of them.

As they try to find their way to an empty spot, a woman bumps into Eddie with her hands on his chest. She looks up at him, her eyelashes fluttering, and he tries not to seem as off-put as he feels.

“Do you wanna buy me a drink?” she asks him.

“Sorry I - think I’m taken.” Unintentionally, he cuts his eyes over to Richie and finds him grinning. It’s probably the smoothest Eddie’s ever been - or it would be, if he meant it, but he did the whole thing mostly on instinct.

She tsks, shakes her head. “That’s too bad,” she says, and then with a pat to his cheek, she’s gone again, leaving him to be tugged further into the bar by Richie.

There’s a quiet little corner in the back, somehow, just two little chairs and a too-small table, and that’s where the two of them end up sitting down. It’s hot and stuffy in the corner, but they can still hear the music over the crowd, now some kind of Benny Goodman tune that’s mostly instrumental.

“Sorry about that,” Eddie says immediately after they sit, already second guessing himself.

Richie just shrugs. “Hey, nothing to be sorry for. Got her off your back.”

“Well, but I actually am - I mean-” Eddie cuts himself off, his eyes darting around the bar. There’s no way anybody would hear them in a place like this, but the idea of it still hangs over him.

“Oh, hey, me, too.” Richie says, almost casually. He still seems a little nervous, too, but less so when Eddie looks up at him. “Us queers gotta stick together, right?”

That makes Eddie laugh, shocked into it, and Richie finally grins, seemingly comforted. Still - continuing to talk about it feels odd when they’re not actually alone, so Eddie backtracks to something Richie said outside. “Did you say you work at Paramount? And people actually - mentioned me?”

“Well you’ve done choreography and lessons for them, right?”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, sure, but they wouldn’t give me a fucking job.”

“Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” There’s something sort of dark in Richie’s expression - something obviously frustrated. Eddie can’t be sure what part exactly of studio life it is that Richie hates, but Eddie knows enough of the dark side from his auditions and bit parts that he gets it a little.

“Pays more, though. But I get it. Were you asking around because you remembered me?”

“Actually someone told me I should probably see you for lessons. I can’t dance my way out of a bag, and they keep talking about putting me in a musical like it’s a threat.”

“Can you sing?” Eddie asks.

Richie shrugs. “Well enough, I guess. I’ve only ever done Westerns and comedies, though - mostly physical comedy stuff.”

“So you want  _ me _ to teach you how to dance?”

“You don’t have to. I’ve just heard such rave reviews, I thought I’d ask.”

Eddie snorts. “Who was it that told you? Was it Beverly Marsh? Because if so she’s a damn liar and she knows it.”

Smiling, Richie takes another drag of his cigarette. “Yeah, alright, Bev may have mentioned it - and maybe she said too that I might find you here.”

“I love her, but she knows I’m a terrible teacher. You should know that too before you agree to anything. Every time they send me someone for lessons they all run off with their tails between their legs. They say I’m too tough on everybody.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie asks, eyebrows raised, clearly intrigued.

“I’m serious, Tozier. I’m too tough on myself and I’m twice as tough on everyone else.”

“Well now I have to do it for the sake of my own pride, Eds.”

Taking another drink, Eddie shakes his head. He’d forgotten that - Richie’s stupid nicknames. “Can’t believe you’re still gonna call me that. We’re not kids anymore.”

“We sure aren’t.” Richie finishes up his cigarette and snubs it out in the ashtray on the table. “So when’s my first lesson?”

“You staying in town for the holidays?”

Richie nods. “My mother was Jewish and I don’t have anyone to see, anyways. What about you?”

“Sometimes I see Ben and Bev, but they’re going to see Ben’s family this year, so I’m free. Come see me this weekend. You have a pen or anything?” Richie shakes his head.

Eddie takes a napkin and then pushes his way back up to the bar. He gets a pen from the bartender and writes his address, apartment, and phone number all on the napkin. Soon, Richie comes up behind him, smiling, and Eddie hands him the napkin.

“Here. 4 o’clock on Friday. I’ll push everything around and make sure there’s room in my place.”

“I’m sure I’ll make you regret it,” Richie tells him with a grin.

Laughing, Eddie ducks his head a little, but finds that it puts him uncomfortably close to Richie, their noses nearly brushing in the crowded space of the bar. Somebody shoves, and they get even closer, Eddie ending up with his hands on Richie’s chest.

For a moment, they stand there, then they get jostled again and both of them laugh it off, looking away.

“Right, well - I’ll see you on Friday, Eds.”

“See ya, Rich,” Eddie says, and then he’s ducking out the door and back out into the comparatively cool night air. He can breathe out here, and it’s quieter again. It’s stopped raining, fortunately, because Eddie has to walk home.

All the way there, he thinks about Richie Tozier.

It’s been a long time since Eddie really had a conscious thought about Richie, but seeing him again has certainly sparked a few things. For one, Eddie’s realization of a childhood crush is a little more complicated, because he has a feeling that Richie is the only person he’s ever really had feelings for. Sure, it was only love in the way Eddie could understand it as a kid, but there’s something bright and shimmering about all those childhood memories that Eddie hasn’t found since. Beyond that, he realizes every time he’s gotten a little crush on some comedian or actor, there’s been some little piece of Richie in them, something that Eddie recognized without realizing.

It’s embarrassing as all hell.

Still, Eddie just blushes to himself as he hums on the way back to his apartment and skips his feet along, trying to practice some of his footwork as he walks. There’s a reason, after all, that the two of them had fallen together as kids. They were just sticking together. It’s hard not to find a little hope in that.

He spends the next few days, his furniture all pushed out to the walls, practicing his dancing for the first time in months. For the most part, it’s like riding a bicycle, and he remembers how. He just puts on the radio or a record and goes to town, glad he lives on the bottom floor of his apartment and he can’t wake anybody up by tap dancing until the wee hours of morning. Besides - a lot of people have gone home for the holidays.

Before Richie comes over, Eddie does a little decorating, puts a little artificial tree in one corner and hangs up a stocking. He doesn’t want to look like a Scrooge, just in case. He wants to leave a good impression.

He wears a red sweater over a button-down for their practice, puts on his best slacks and dancing shoes, and he sits in his apartment all day, nervous and fidgeting.

Richie knocks on his door right on time, which is sort of a surprise. Eddie remembers he tended to be late to everything when they were kids - at least he was always late to class. Maybe he wasn’t ever late to see Eddie.

When Eddie answers the door, Richie’s standing there in a collared shirt and a leather jacket. He’s shaved since Eddie last saw him, but his hair is still as messy as ever, and he still has on his glasses and a grin.

“You want a drink or anything before we get started?” Eddie asks him, holding out a hand to take Richie’s jacket.

Richie hands it to him and sort of shakes out his limbs, then rolls up his sleeves. “No, no, I’m good. We can make that a reward if I don’t break an ankle trying to dance in your apartment. We’ll probably work up a thirst anyways, right?” Richie sort of winks at him, and Eddie rolls his eyes even as he laughs.

“Jesus, Rich. Maybe save the lines for your co-stars, yeah? What exactly do you need to know? Any tap sequences? Slow dancing? Have they told you anything specific?”

“Uh-” Richie glances over towards the wall and then back at Eddie, his gaze snapping back. “No! No, they haven’t yet, they’re still sort of figuring it out. Slow dancing is probably a sure bet, but otherwise I guess we ought to just cover the bases, just to be safe.”

“You’re never gonna want to come back if we start with tap. Let’s start with slow dancing. I’ll teach you to lead. We’ll start with you following so you can watch what I do, then I’ll follow and correct you.”

“Am I supposed to know what any of that means?” Richie asks.

“Richie, fuck’s sake. Just - stand right there in the middle of the room.” Eddie takes off his tap shoes and pushes up his sleeves, rolling up his cuffs.

“You curse like a military man. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“You used to when we were kids, cause of your dad. You’re one to talk.”

“Had to shake it off for work, mostly. If I talked like that on a set they’d fire me.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Eddie tells him, grinning as he walks over. Richie laughs. “Now, here.” He places one hand on Richie’s waist and then takes his other hand. “Put your free hand on my shoulder.”

Richie does as he’s told, but he seems surprised by Eddie’s closeness.

“I’ll start with a waltz, just a basic one starts with a box step, and a lot of dances branch off from that box step when you’re partner dancing, so if you can nail down the basics, you can get fancy from there.”

“Didn’t understand a damn thing you just said, Eds, but I’ll follow your lead.”

“See? You’re already learning,” Eddie jokes with him. “Just watch my feet, and when I step back, step forward to follow me. You start by watching your feet, that way you won’t step on mine - hopefully after a while you can do that without looking.”

“I feel like if I step on your feet you’ll definitely kick me out.”

“Mm, we’ll see. I’ll give you three strikes for free.”

They get started, and Richie watches their feet, his head ducked down so it nearly touches Eddie’s chest. It’s probably sort of comical, Eddie leading the two of them in a box step waltz to no music around his living room, especially because Richie’s so much taller than he is. He doesn’t want Richie to get distracted by music yet, though, so Eddie just counts out the steps and guides him along to a slow beat.

Really, in spite of the fact that he was a gangly kid and he’s still too tall for his own good, Richie’s not a bad dancer. He seems to have a little rhythm and grace, and he isn’t stepping on Eddie’s toes.

After they’ve gone through the basic steps a few times, Eddie taps Richie’s shoulder and steps back, dropping his hands. “Not bad, Tozier. Let’s try this with music a few times and then you can try your hand at leading.”

“Thought you were supposed to be tough, Eds.”

“You haven’t fucked up yet.”

Richie laughs, and Eddie smiles as he goes to put on a record. He has music divided into sections for teaching - particular songs or albums that are good for a slow waltz or a nice, steady tap routine. There’s sections for each tempo and time signature, just for that exact reason.

With the music on behind them, Eddie returns to Richie and puts his hands in the same place, continuing to lead. After a minute or two of Richie still watching his feet, Eddie takes one hand and uses a fist to nudge up on Richie’s chin, making him look up.

“Eyes up here, Tozier,” he jokes.

Richie smiles. “Three strikes for me stepping on your feet before you kick me out, right?”

“Three strikes and we’ll see.”

They dance, though, with the two of them locking eyes, and Eddie has a terrible feeling that if Richie stepped on his foot he might not even feel it. He feels a little like he’s floating, with the only thing keeping him on the ground being the warm press of Richie’s hand on his shoulder. Each one of his fingerprints feel distinct even through Eddie’s shirt, and Richie’s other hand, held in Eddie’s own, seems big by comparison.

Making eye contact, too, Eddie realizes that Richie’s eyes, while dark, are really a deep shade of blue. He’s not sure he ever noticed that when they were kids - maybe he never got close enough.

The song ends, shifting to something faster, and Eddie clears his throat and steps back. “Right. Well pleasant surprise, you passed that one with flying colors. Now you try to lead.”

“I’m gonna fuck this one up.”

Eddie laughs. “Guess we’ll see.” He takes the needle off the record and then goes back over to Richie. “Hand on my waist, other hand in mine, just follow what I did and I’ll follow your lead. You’re allowed to look down again so you can try not to step on my feet.”

This one is at least a little more of a bumpy road. It seems like some of the advantage of Eddie leading was that Richie could read his signals, but now it seems like he barely remembers what Eddie was doing to lead. Eddie has to talk him through most of it, but there’s something about teaching Richie that’s making him strangely patient.

It’s definitely not that he just wants to spend more time with Richie in his apartment.

They dance for a long time. Eddie puts on the music again, eventually, but it’s starting to get late and both of them are getting tired. When Eddie finally does look at the clock, he realizes both of them have probably not eaten for a while - they’ve been at it for four hours.

“We should stop here for today. But you’re not bad, Rich. Just first-time jitters, but you’re not hopeless. I’ve had much worse students.”

“I think you’re just a good teacher, Eds.” Richie rolls his sleeves back down and buttons his cuffs. “Hey, do you wanna have dinner with me? I know a place. I can drive. I’ll have you back home before your parents can worry, I promise,” Richie says with a wink.

Eddie laughs, but it’s a little wooden - not because of Richie. The parents remark just stings a little. “No one’s worrying, Rich. But sure, let’s have dinner.”

Richie winces. “I forgot. Your ma and all that stuff. I don’t know how, sorry.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“I mean I’m gonna stop talking so I don’t put my foot even more in my mouth, but I’m sorry I said it, still.”

Eddie shrugs, and straightens out his own cuffs and pushes the sleeves of his sweater back down. “I’m not trying to bust your chops, it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

“And we’re moving on! I just had an even better idea for a place to eat, it’ll be a great distraction.”

“Lead the way, then.”

“Oh I’ve been trying,” Richie tells him, and it’s a terrible joke, but it still makes Eddie laugh.

The place where they end up doesn’t look like much from the outside. Pretty typical, maybe a little cozy. It’s called the Pacific Dining Car, though, and once they’re inside, Eddie finds out why. It actually looks like an old dining car on the inside - like they’ve just stepped into a train.

“It’s actually an old converted train car. That’s why it looks like this,” Richie tells him with a grin.

There’s Christmas decorations, and a decent crowd for an off hour on a Friday night. The small size makes it cozy, but it’s not over-crowded like the bar where they met. It’s nice.

Richie orders something called a “baseball steak,” and he smokes while they wait for their food. They both order drinks, and they get comfortable while they talk and joke in a nicer atmosphere. There’s something about the two of them together - they just click. It doesn’t matter that Eddie doesn’t know Richie as well as he did when they were kids - it’s so easy to fall into conversation with him anyways. Eddie felt it earlier when they danced, too, that they match somehow, they meet each other every step of the way. One pushes, the other pushes back. It’s fantastic.

In spite of some little hope Eddie has about where the night might lead them, after dinner, Richie really does take Eddie home. They grin at each other, and make plans to have Richie come back for another lesson the next week - on Friday, same time and place. Eddie hates to go a full week without seeing Richie, but he doesn’t want to push for more just yet.

While he’s out shopping just a couple days later, he hears “I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm” playing in a store. It puts a smile on his face, and he finds himself humming it for the rest of the day, dancing his way through his chores at home. He even does an embarrassing little routine with his broom in hand as he sweeps the floor, accidentally improvising a choreographed number for the first time in years.

In a move that is probably both ridiculous and proof that he’s lost his marbles, he decides to turn it into a solo number so he can teach it to Richie. He puts the broom down and spends the rest of the afternoon really perfecting the choreography, adding in some very mild, beginner’s tap dancing. The rest of it is mostly simple footwork anyways.

He adds the broom back in, convinced it could make for a fun audition piece if Richie can really get it down.

He buys a record on Thursday and greets Richie at the door on Friday with a smile, this week just wearing a sweater with the sleeves already pushed up. “Come in, I had an idea and I wanted to see what you think.”

Richie shrugs off his jacket and leaves it by the door, revealing that he’s wearing a looser fitting short-sleeved button-down this week. “Alright, lay it on me, Eds.”

“We spent last week focused on partnered dancing, so I thought we might alternate - this week we focus on more independent dancing, a little bit of tap. What do you say? I have a number worked out if you’re interested - I choreographed something for you.”

“You came up with a dance for me?” The way Richie says it, all soft and overwhelmed, makes it feel more like a gesture than Eddie really meant it to.

Eddie shrugs and walks over to his makeshift dance floor. “That’s how it works. I mean I could teach you something standard, but I thought it would be easier if I came up with something simple that you could turn into something a little bit funny - really impress the studio if they need you to audition or prove the lessons are working.”

“Right. I - uh. Yeah, of course, that makes sense. Well, you - how does that work, then? Do I watch first? Can I see it?”

“You should probably watch me do it before you try, yeah. I’ll still guide you through once you’re starting, correct your form. But it might help just to see it.”

So Eddie puts the record on, and grabs the broom, and launches in.

He’s not really thinking about impressing Richie, because that isn’t how his head works when he’s dancing. If he were thinking about anything external, anything beyond his own feet and his body and the way it feels, he’d be doing it wrong. It’s different with a partner, because he has to feel them too, match them, but alone, it’s just himself and the way that he feels. The same way he felt the first time he danced, the same thing that drove him away from home and all the way to Los Angeles, just hoping there’d be people to let him keep doing it.

He finishes the bit by dipping the broom, one leg behind him, up in the air, and he looks up when Richie starts clapping in front of him.

It’s stupid, it’s not like there’s a real audience - but somehow Richie’s applause means more to him than anybody else’s ever could. Eddie smiles at him. “You like it, then?” he asks.

“I don’t know if there’s a chance in hell if I can move like that - but if you want, Eds, I’ll try.”

“You can’t know until you try, Rich.”

Richie stands up and shakes himself out. For what they’re trying to do, Eddie does talk and guide Richie through some stretches just to be safe, gently correcting his posture with presses to his back or shoulder or arm when necessary.

Eddie hands Richie the broom once he’s ready, and decides to mime it himself. “Now we’ll go without the music - I’ll count it for you, to keep time. We can go slow that way, then speed it up once you’re comfortable.”

“Assuming I get comfortable.”

“You never will with that attitude. Come on.”

“Assuming I get comfortable!” Richie says with feigned enthusiasm, and Eddie huffs out a laugh in spite of himself. He thumps Richie on the back of the head, just lightly, with the heel of his hand.

“Alright smart-ass, come on.”

He guides Richie through the steps carefully - at first giving him each one almost as a pose, or a sequence of poses, gently correcting his posture as necessary. Then he speeds it up to a slow sequence, letting Richie watch him as they both go through the choreography slow enough that it’s easy for Richie to correct himself as he watches Eddie and follows along. Once it seems like he’s starting to get more comfortable with the motions themselves, Eddie takes them up to tempo so they can run it a few more times - then he adds the music.

This time isn’t quite as impressive as Richie’s partnered dancing - he’s an obvious amateur. But still, he has rhythm, and most importantly he responds quickly and easily to Eddie’s corrections. He doesn’t insist he’s right or hold up the process, he just listens to Eddie and moves easily under his hands.

It makes Eddie think about things he shouldn’t, and it’s the closest Eddie comes to snapping as he just tries to get them to move along so he doesn’t linger.

When Eddie decides to call it time for dinner, Richie is fumbling his way through the steps, but he’s got them in the right order and seems eager enough to keep practicing on his own time. They wrap up, and Eddie offers Richie his jacket.

“You want to go for dinner again?” Eddie asks him, standing by the door.

Richie grins at him. “Sure! You want to pick the place?”

Thinking of some of his favorite places, Eddie finally lands on one and nods. “Yeah, I can figure it out. Come on.”

They end up walking, because it’s a place that Eddie goes frequently, just a couple of blocks away from his apartment. It’s a place with genuine Mexican food, run by a family, and Eddie goes there often enough that they greet him by name. He waves to the owner as he and Richie take their seats.

As they wait for their food, Richie strikes up conversation. “So am I allowed to ask how I’m doing in dancing lessons, or is that cheating?”

Eddie snorts. “How would that be cheating? I’m not lying when I tell you that you’re doing pretty well. You’re easy to work with. Lot of big stars, I’m not always that lucky. They think they know everything, or that I can’t possibly know more than them or I’d be famous.”

“That must be a pain in the ass. I have to admit, though - you’re good. I’m not sure why you’re not with the studio officially.”

Huffing out a sigh, Eddie looks down at the table, sort of scratching at it, fidgeting. “That’s the 64 thousand dollar question, right? I don’t know. I used to think about it a lot, really beat myself up, but it didn’t get me anywhere. I’m good at what I do, but maybe I’m not a good enough actor or singer or I’m not handsome enough, I don’t know. It’s fine. I make enough from teaching and odd-jobs that I’m not starving. I can afford to live here. That’s about all I can ask for.”

“Well you can definitely ask for more. I get what you mean, Eds, but - I don’t know. Just doesn’t seem fair. You’re handsome, you’re talented.”

Richie calling him handsome is a surprise, and Eddie sort of huffs out an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know either. It’s nice of you to say so, but I think now I’m alright not working for a studio directly. It gives me a little more freedom.”

Something dark crosses Richie’s expression, just like at the bar. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

Their food gets to the table and it saves Eddie from having to change the subject.

After they’re finished, and out the door, Richie walks him home again.

“I did want to say earlier,” Eddie tells him, “You really are good. I don’t want to undersell that. I think maybe the physical comedy you do gives you a better understanding of your body - I’m not sure that’s what it is, that’s just a theory. But whatever it is, you correct yourself well. You seem in tune with the way you move, not everyone’s that lucky when they need lessons from me.”

When Eddie turns to look at Richie while they’re walking, Richie looks pleased, but surprised. He grins at Eddie with his hands shoved in his pockets. “Yeah? That’s - Thanks, Eds. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“I really don’t know why you’re putting so much stock in my opinion, but that’s nice of you to say.”

They finish the rest of the walk back in quiet, just enjoying the sounds of LA and the distant strains of music from some bar or store or someone down by the beach. When they reach Eddie’s door, they both stop and look at each other.

Both of them start to speak, then stop and laugh.

“You go ahead,” Richie tells him.

“Alright, just - next Friday’s the day after Christmas. Do you want to just plan on that? Do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah, but, uh- You don’t have any holiday plans, right? We could always - we could do something. On Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. I know we just ran into each other again, and that may be kind of-”

“Yes. Yeah. Let’s do something. I don’t know that anywhere around here’s open on Christmas Day or Christmas Eve, but we can just - you can come by my place and I can cook, we’ll figure it out. I’ll put on a record or something. We don’t have to dance unless you want to.”

That gets a laugh out of Richie, and he smiles again, all bright and shining as he looks at Eddie. “Alright, then, Eds. It’s a date.”

Eddie’s heart speeds up, and he flushes, but he doesn’t want to ask questions. “Alright. Christmas Eve. See you then, Rich.”

“See you.”

Leaning in, Richie pulls him in close for a hug, and then waves as he walks away.

For a long moment, Eddie stands there, watching Richie walk away until he turns a corner. Then, after another moment, he finally opens the door and goes inside his apartment building. A date. Maybe. It’s enough to make Eddie sort of giddy as he gets back to his own apartment, grinning to himself the rest of the night.

Only a few days later, Bev calls him from her vacation with Ben. It’s the Monday before Christmas, just a couple of days before he sees Richie again.

“Eddie? You there?”

“Bev! I’m here, how are you?”

“Oh everything’s been great out here. Ben’s mom is so sweet and there’s snow everywhere - they’re talking like we might get a white Christmas. If we weren’t already married I think Ben might propose all over again.”

“Lucky you,” he jokes, smiling into the receiver.

“Yeah, yeah, enough about me. How are things out there in the sun? You’re not spending too much time hiding at home, are you? I told you to get out of the house.”

“I have! Actually - I’d say you’d never believe it but apparently he’s talked to you. I ran into Richie Tozier at Starboard Side, down by the beach.”

“Oh! He was telling the truth, then? You two grew up together?”

“Yeah, he was - well it’s a long story. But yeah. It’s been nice to see him again. I’ve seen him a few times.”

“As in  _ seen him _ seen him?” Bev asks, pressing.

“Not like that! At least not yet, Beverly, please.”

“You only ever call me Beverly when I’m onto something.”

“Or when you’re annoying the hell out of me.”

“Language, Eddie!” She tells him, but she’s laughing. Honestly, when she gets into her costuming work, Bev has a worse mouth than Eddie does - which is really, really saying something. “So you’ve seen him a few times. Doing what? It’s nearly Christmas.”

“He has some part he’s getting ready for, apparently. Something on his contract at Paramount, a musical. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but he asked me for lessons.”

“Like a bit part?” Beverly asks, suddenly hesitant.

“I don’t know, he hasn’t said much about it. Why do you sound like that? Do you know something I don’t?”

“Just - he’s sort of in trouble right now. At the studio. I doubt they’d be giving him a featured role in anything… family-friendly.”

That doesn’t seem completely at odds with what he knows of Richie - but he thinks about the look on Richie’s face when the studio comes up, and the way he’s talked about it. The way he dodges questions about the musical. “Bev. What are you saying?”

“I’ve just heard some rumors his contract is - in trouble. Not to say that he’s lying, if he’d been fired, I’d know. Everyone would. But I doubt he’s prepping for anything, Eddie.”

“So are you - are you saying he lied? Why would he lie about that and take lessons from me?” It feels like something is lodged in Eddie’s chest, or in his throat, like somebody’s punched him and knocked all the air out of him. He thought things were going so well. He looks at the mistletoe he hung above the doorway and squeezes his eyes shut, turning his back on it.

“You probably know better than I would, Eddie,” she tells him.

He sighs, and moves the phone away from his face for a moment, then sort of knocks it against his forehead. “I should let you get back to your vacation. I - I have to do some things, now. Try to figure this out, maybe.”

Eddie starts to hang up, but Bev’s voice sounds out from the phone again. “Eddie. Stop. Do you like him?”

“Of course I do. We’ve had dinner together twice. I grew up with him. We’ve had dancing lessons - he’s not half bad, either. I just-”

“Give him a chance to explain, then. Don’t just jump to the worst conclusions? I know that’s hard for you but - do it for me. Or for him. Whatever makes it easier.”

“Alright, Bev. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.” And with that, she’s gone.

Eddie goes over to the doorway and pulls down the mistletoe, still embarrassed. He bunches it up in his hand and tosses it in the trash, then washes his hands.

He goes to bed that night, and he tries his best not to think about Richie at all.

On Christmas Eve, Eddie wakes up nervous. He’s so distracted that he puts his sweater on backwards and has to fix it in the bathroom mirror. He tries to cook and nearly mixes up several important parts of the recipe, so he just gives up and sits down on his couch, looking over at his sad little Christmas tree. He decides not to put on any music, because he has a terrible feeling it would just make everything worse.

When the knock comes on his door, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

He answers the door and finds Richie there, a grin on his face, a nice blue sweater on under his jacket. “Hey, Eds. Merry Christmas.”

“Richie, I - I have to talk to you about something,” Eddie blurts out, knowing that if he puts it off it’ll just make everything worse.

“Oh.” Richie looks jittery in an instant, like he wants to dart back out, but also like he knows he can’t. “That’s - uh. Not really what I was expecting.”

“Just come in,” Eddie tells him, stepping back to let Richie in.

Once they’re both inside, and the door is closed behind them, Eddie crosses his arms and looks down at the floor - the big empty space where he’s been giving Richie his lessons.

“So - So Bev called me from the east coast on Monday. And I told her we’d been… talking.”

“Oh,” Richie says again, still clearly nervous. He seems restless, too, like he’s really itching to run now. “I have a bad feeling I know where this is going.”

Eddie sighs, and keeps his eyes on Richie. “Do you want to explain, then?”

Richie looks down at his own feet, tapping against the floor. “Look. Eds, I - I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about everything that happened. I just - if you didn’t know already I didn’t want that to be how you thought of me, just some stupid Hollywood scandal. I wanted - I wanted to impress you. I thought if you thought I was actually some big actor you’d - I don’t know. I’m sorry. If you - if you want me to go, I mean. I get it. I’m sure if nobody at Paramount except Bev knows I’ve been here it’s not gonna look bad for you, they’ll probably still hire you. Sorry.”

As Richie starts to move for the door, Eddie catches him by the arm. “Wait, wait, that’s - Bev didn’t tell me anything specific, Richie. She wouldn’t do that. She just - I guess I just felt a little strange that you didn’t really need dancing lessons.” The concern falls flat in the face of whatever else Richie’s clearly been dealing with.

In response, Richie looks a little shell-shocked, too. “Fuck. Sorry. I just assumed - fuck. Okay. So. That’s not great. Uh. I just - I wasn’t completely lying about that. Before - before everything I was supposed to be in a musical and I guess I thought maybe if I could prove myself I could get it back.”

Suddenly, Eddie realizes he’d been expecting some grand declaration about how Richie’d just been coming up with an excuse to get close to Eddie again - that he’d felt the same way Eddie had when they were kids. Eddie drops his hand, letting go of Richie’s arm. “Oh. Sorry. Bev made it sound like - well. Doesn’t matter. That’s - that’s all, then, I guess. You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to, Richie. You don’t owe me anything.”

“You’ve been giving me free dancing lessons. I think I probably owe you something.”

Eddie laughs, and it edges on hysterical. He turns his head. “No. It’s - it’s fine, really. Chalk it up to us being old friends. I don’t know.”

“Eddie, look, I didn’t - I’m sorry. About everything. Do you want me to go?”

“No! No.” It’s instinct, more than anything, but Eddie reaches out and takes Richie’s arm again. “No, that’s not - you don’t have to leave. Let’s - do you want to go for a walk?”

Richie frowns, and sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to. If you want to leave,” Eddie says quietly, suddenly realizing how desperate he seems

Richie sighs again. “No let’s go for a walk - like I said, I probably-”

“Richie, if you say you owe it to me - just don’t. You don’t owe me anything, and if that’s why you’re here you can just go, it’s fine, I don’t-” Eddie’s breathing picks up and he doesn’t know if he’s going to shout or cry or some horribly embarrassing combination of the two.

Quickly, Richie’s hands land on Eddie’s shoulders, holding him in place. The familiar weight is comforting. “Eds, hey, breathe, come on. I didn’t - I haven’t seen you like this since we were kids.”

“Still happens sometimes,” Eddie sort of wheezes in between breaths, his eyes still firmly shut.

Richie’s hands rub gently up and down his arms, and they both just stand there, breathing together, until Eddie’s breaths are under control again.

“You okay?” Richie asks.

“Probably, now. Sorry. This isn’t - none of this is how I expected this to go. I was supposed to cook for you but I got all worried about what Bev said and I fucked it up, I didn’t mean to come off so - I mean I was worried about you lying but I wasn’t that upset, I was just nervous, I didn’t mean to make it seem like I didn’t want you here.”

He looks up at Richie’s face, and finds that Richie’s sort of smiling at him, just slightly. “If I didn’t think I’d fuck the whole thing up I’d offer to help you in the kitchen.”

“Maybe you could chop some things, if you wanted. If you promise to be careful with the knife.”

Richie laughs, then gets serious again. “Eddie, I - I wanna tell you what happened. Let me tell you, okay? Then - then you can decide if you want me to stay. I haven’t been fair to you.”

“It’s not gonna make any difference, Rich.”

Shrugging, Richie sits down on the couch. “Okay. So - I still do have a contract. I didn’t lie to you.”

“Bev told me that much.”

Looking surprised, Richie glances up and blinks. “Oh. Good. Well - I did almost lose it. I told you - I mean you know I’m queer. And it’s sort of an open secret around the studio. I’m not great at keeping my mouth shut. It’s never been a problem because I wasn’t big enough to paint a target on my back. But I started getting bigger parts, and this - this guy found out. I guess he had it out for me. Nothing happened with the two of us, not really, but he sort of tricked me into thinking he got it, you know, and then set me up one day so he could kiss me where he’d planted a photographer. I shoved him off, nothing happened, but they got what they wanted. They tried to blackmail the studio. The studio paid them off, and I think it’s all - settled and swept under the rug. But the whole thing was a mess. And it - you know it got around the studio. A lot of people who’d never even heard of me now just know me as the guy that cost the studio too much money. And a lot of the stuff I was slated to work on is sort of up in the air right now.”

“Richie,” Eddie says, sitting down beside him on the couch.

“Look, if you want me to go-”

“Come here, idiot,” Eddie tells him, and then he pulls Richie into a hug, arms around his shoulders, holding him close. Richie comes willingly, and sinks into it almost immediately, obviously grateful. “You’re better than that whole damn studio as far as I’m concerned. It’s not your fault you wanted to believe someone - but just for clarity’s sake, you can trust me. I’d never do anything like that. I’m sorry it happened, and if I ever find out who the guy was, you can bet I’ll either punch him or put him through hell if they have me choreograph anything he’s in.”

Richie laughs, just a soft little huff against Eddie’s shoulder. “I know. I know I can trust you. Sorry I’m sort of ruining Christmas.”

“Hey, you’re here. Christmas isn’t ruined. It’s only Christmas Eve anyways. We get all this shit out of the way, we still have plenty of time for dinner and music and whatever else.”

Laughing again, Richie lifts his head up and rubs at his eyes under his glasses with one of his free hands. “Thanks, Eds. I mean it. Thanks for everything.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” Eddie tells him softly, rubbing at his back. There’s another moment where both of them sort of linger, and look at each other, but Eddie quickly pats Richie on the back and stands up. “Come on - if we’re gonna have food, we’d better start cooking.”

“And I’ll try not to burn down your apartment on Christmas Eve.”

Eddie puts on a record, finally, while they get to work. He has Richie chop vegetables, carefully, and he takes care of some of the other ingredients, putting together the rest of the soup. Once everything is chopped, and in the pot, it all has to be left to simmer, and Eddie cleans off his hands while he hums along with the record.

Richie laughs behind him, and Eddie turns, eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, just - you were kind of dancing a little, like you weren’t even thinking about it. Do you do that a lot?”

Eddie flushes. “I don’t know. Uh - Well. I used to. I hadn’t in a while, before I started teaching you. I hadn’t - it’d been a while since Paramount hired me, before you asked me to teach you. I was probably going to have to start resorting to teaching kids. I still might. But I hadn’t danced in… a while.”

“Really? Bev didn’t make it sound like that.”

Laughing, Eddie leans against the counter. “Yeah, she wouldn’t. She always acts like I’m the best choreographer in Hollywood. She’s good that way.”

“I bet you are the best choreographer in Hollywood. I’m on her side,” Richie tells him, stepping closer.

Rolling his eyes, Eddie moves past Richie and back into the living room. “I promise I’m not.”

The record comes to a stop, and Eddie goes over to flip it onto the B side. “Santa Claus Came in the Spring” starts playing, and Eddie laughs a little, embarrassed by himself.

“Hey,” Richie says, right behind him.

Eddie turns, startled.

“Let’s dance."

“We’re not having lessons on Christmas Eve.”

Richie grins. “Nah. I just wanna show you I’ve been practicing. Come here.”

With a hand on his waist, Richie pulls Eddie close and takes his free hand. Eddie stumbles into it, laughing, and puts his open hand on Richie’s shoulder, only to get spun into a move fancier than anything he’d bothered to teach Richie on their first day.

“Have you been taking lessons with somebody else?” Eddie asks.

Richie shakes his head. “No, of course not. But uh - it’s possible I didn’t really need all the basics you gave me the first time. I maybe - played it up a little so I had an excuse to keep hanging around.”

Following Richie’s lead as they continue to dance, Eddie leans a little closer. “Really? Why?”

“I missed you. I wasn’t sure you’d let me just come around to catch up. I don’t know.”

“I missed you, too,” Eddie tells him. Then, thinking of the mistletoe he tossed in the trashcan, and the way Richie’d told him this was a date, he takes a deep breath. “I sort of had a thing for you, growing up. It was nice to see you again.”

Richie dips his head down, leaning closer. They’re more swaying now than doing any fancy footwork. Eddie’s eyes fall shut. “That’s funny,” Richie says quietly. “Me, too.”

“So this is a date, huh?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Does it make me easy if we kiss before the end of the date?”

Richie huffs out a laugh and tips forward to press his forehead against Eddie’s. “I don’t think so. I promise not to kiss and tell.”

So with that, Eddie leans up on his toes and presses his lips against Richie’s. Richie moves his hands and wraps his arms tightly around Eddie’s waist, helping to hold him up.

Eddie slides his fingers into Richie’s hair, keeping him close as he deepens the kiss, and lingers. It’s long and indulgent, the same way Eddie feels every touch has been since he ran into Richie again. They both take their time, holding tight and pressing close until Eddie has to pull back, resting his chin on Richie’s shoulder as they breathe.

“I had mistletoe over the door before but I took it down when I realized I had to ask you about - everything. I should have left it up.”

Richie laughs. “Hey, we got there in the end. That’s what counts.” He loosens his hold enough that Eddie holds his own weight again, his feet on the ground.

Then he hears the sound of the soup boiling over in the kitchen.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie says out loud, rushing off.

The sounds of Richie’s laughter rings out loud from the living room as Eddie takes the lid off the soup and stirs it, making sure it’s salvageable as he turns down the heat.

“It’s fine! Everything’s fine,” he calls.

It turns out he didn’t need to, as Richie comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist. “I’m sure it will be, Eds. But we can stay in here and keep an eye on it.”

Eddie places his hands over Richie’s. “Right. Then after dinner we can - do other things.”

“Other things?” Richie asks, obvious suggestion in his voice.

Snorting, Eddie elbows him firmly enough that Richie winces. “Don’t get any ideas yet. Dinner first. Then we’ll see.”

“Eds, you could dance with me all night and send me home and I’d be the happiest man in California.”

Flushing, Eddie turns and runs his hands up Richie’s arms. “I said we’ll see.” Richie grins at him, though, his face all bright, and Eddie can’t help but lean up and kiss him again, another slow press of lips.

At least now if the soup boils over again they’re closer this time. And after dinner - well, who knows. No matter what, he and Richie will be happy. They’ve got each other, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> happy ongoing holidays everybody!!! i think i've still got one more holiday fic in me after this! after that one, we'll see what happens. definitely more reddie fic, though, because. come on.
> 
> as always, find me on twitter @eddykaspbraks!
> 
> also hey! in terms of historical notes, the Pacific Dining Car restaurant is a real place and it's been there since the 20s! Mae West used to frequent it! i've never been there but i'm kind of enchanted with it so. i made richie and eddie go there aklsdmf


End file.
